Escaping My Fate
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: Belle flees the Dark Castle. Why did she choose to run? One-shot.


_A/N: I love writing this couple so much. Unfortunately not all of it is fluff N' stuff that would be evil me. Something I've had floating around for a while; not like my usual stuff. Rum/Belle, but far from fluffy romance. Enjoy._

**~8~8~**

Cold and darkness surrounded me in their icy talons of depravity. The night was blacker than an ogre witch's soul and ten times as frigid. Neither a star nor the pallid moon could be seen from the ebony clouds swirling violently above in thunderous rage.

Bleak snow, dark and biting with every drive of the gnashing wind, fell heavy and profusely down to the abysmal land; layering it with the flakes that looked akin to ashes of a sickly corpse. Thickets of thorns and brakes of tangled weeds clustered with dead burrs scratched and tore the flesh of my legs and ankles. With every step a new rip was slashed in my blue dress, every stride brought another lance of pain and oozing hot blood to stream down and stain the snow blanketed forest floor like a trail of fear and desperation bubbling from my soul.

Blindly I ran into the darkened woods, without logic of direction of which way I was heading. Strands of my thick tresses lashed against my face and fluttered behind me like some copper pennant fluttering through the savage gale. My only thoughts were to get away from the forlorn, ominous gray and black castle towering behind me and its master, my master.

The forest was confusing in the day light, now it was even more so with the utter darkness and gray snow churning in the chill air. Looming trees tilted over me with their naked branches, like bony hands of sun bleached corpses, stretching out to grab hold of me as if to keep me still until he could track me down.

Scarlet eyes, like pools of fresh blood followed my every pained, tormented step. They peered out from the black frosted undergrowth, staring in expectation. Why they never deemed to attack was a mystery, but perhaps they could already feel a supremely more powerful predator already on the hunt and following the scent of fear and desperation.

Such a thought made my insides drop and my stomach to somersault in terror. A cry of hysteria hitched in my throat, but I fought it down as I vaulted over a down lichen layered log.

He was going to realize, if he hadn't already, I was gone. Once he strolled into the kitchen, demanding to know where his tea was and see the door swinging ajar with bits of leaden gray snow scuffing and swirling at the threshold, the beast would be on the hunt for his property.

A wolf howled its sorrowful tune to the hidden moon or was it him howling in rage of my escape? It mattered not for the sound made my body flinch in fear and blood to chill its galloping stride through my veins. I hoped dearly it was the wolf, and not my enraged master baying to the celestial orb in promise to capture his wayward slave. While people had often whispered he was a beast and a monster, I had never truly felt as such till that moment as the echo of the howl drifted upon the screaming air.

Just the same, the noise made me pick up my already speeding pace as I dashed over moss strewn rocks and rotted logs that crumbled under my weight. More thorns and burrs bit viciously into my legs and ankles but my body felt numb from the cold and ice stinging me, which was a blessing in some way, I supposed.

My body begged to stop, to simply give in to the snow and cold and pass away from the hurt and the pain on my body and writhing in my rapidly pounding heart. A branch that stuck out like a dagger from a long dead tree scraped barbarically across my cheek. Any other time, it would have only elicited a small hiss of pain, but the bruise that had been welling there two days before made it feel akin to a hot brand stabbed against my tender flesh.

I shrieked in abject torment and slapped a hand to my face, only to feel the warmth of blood dribbling down the side of my cheek like the tears chilling upon my fearful face. My cry was carried off by the billowing wind, so that it was like I had not screamed at all.

Tears, hot and stinging, welled mistily in my eyes as I forced myself to keep the pace of escape and not give him a chance to locate me by pausing; any moment of rest could place me in a dire circumstance. At the moment anywhere that was not the Dark Castle or in the vicinity of my master in general seemed heaven. The cold and darkness and ice and wind were a haven compared to another moment in the master's warm halls.

How had this come to pass? What made me break my sworn oath to him and flee?

He had struck me. Yes, that had been the goad to spur my runaway.

Rumpelstiltskin could be rather beastly at times, of that I admit, but never had he raised a hand to hit me ever before. It happened two long days ago in his apothecary, and yet why it occurred still made a shiver slither up my spine despite the cold and prickling snow.

I had not seen him the entire day before the incident that spurred my escape. Dusk was near to falling and unless he had used magic, he'd nothing to eat, not even tea, all day. Thinking to leave him a little something I carried a silver tray of hot food up to his work, hoping he would eat.

Never had he denied me entry before. I was forbidden to clean his potion room for my somewhat knack of clumsiness, but it had always been open to me and this time was no different. The way was not barred nor had magic been placed as a ward. Walking in, his back was turned and he loomed over some sort of vial with a bit of purple in its contents.

Not giving it a thought, I merely placed the tray at the edge of a work table. A singular silver gilt spoon, such a small silly, thing fell from the silver gilded tray and tumbled to the floor with a small clinking sound. He flinched at the noise, and perhaps jarring him out of his concentration. Whatever he had been doing he slammed it down in frustration. Glass and purple, vicious fluid spattered in all direction as he charged murderously towards me like some enraged bull.

I was used to his rages and his snarling snapping ways that sometimes took him thrall. Never had he done anything else, but growl and grouse and bark. Still it did not contrive his roaring at me pleasant in any manner, but I never expected else or more.

I hadn't seen the blow coming until the back of his hand made contact with my left cheek and I was halfway tumbling to the floor. It seemed the ground leapt up to meet me, rather than me falling down to the coarse, hard stone.

My body jarred against the cold stone upon the cataclysmic impact. I knew not what occurred for a few moments before my head stopped in incorrigible spinning.

Blood seeped at the very border of my lips, but I was far too stunned to notice much. Shock quivered in every nerve. For a moment nothing seemed to make sense; the entire world had just taken a different course.

"You stupid, clumsy woman!" He roared savagely at me. His eyes were alight with dark fire and frustration as he towered over me with hands curled into fists. "Why did you come up here? Do you know what you did? Months of work you have brought to ruin!"

My mouth opened, by no words came out. In that moment he utterly terrified me, so much so, all I could do was scramble to my feet and run for dear life. Perhaps it was my brain only focused on my now burning and bruised cheek, but I ran to my cell and not the door as I probably should have done.

For the next day, I spent it a nervous mess. Any creak of wood, a clink of cutlery, the soft thud of a boot, or even a bird's song was agonizing torment lashing upon frayed nerves. The pain in my cheek was sharp and pronounced so much so; it even hurt to smile if there was anything to smile over. The flesh was a mottled purple and black that would take weeks to heal fully.

In the entire time, I didn't see him that whole day, nor had a wanted to.

As the day dragged on for eternity, in my mind, all I could recall were the images of vassals and serfs being kicked around by their masters and the tales of misery from escaped slaves that found my father's kingdom for refuge and emancipation. Some masters or even rulers had a penchant for beating the weak and slow. I had never seen Rumpelstiltskin act as such before, but now…could it happen to me?

One thing I had never thought the Dark One would do was hit me. He was a collector, and one thing collectors never did was damage their things. Many a times he handled his trinkets of porcelain and glass and gossamer with the utmost care despite his wicked, magic laced talons, and I had never seen him break anything by accident before.

Fear gripped me the longer thoughts of beatings and fists raced through my head. He did it once, meaning he might do it again, and again and again, and I was stuck with him forever. A slave could be granted the mercy of death from wounds and age, but I was trapped with a promise I had made of forever.

I might as well have called myself dead or worse an eternal resident of Tartarus.

With such panic and the knowledge wafting over my head, there was nary a second thought that cold night when the snow was falling. Scooping up a two hefty chunks of bread, a wedge of cheese I stupidly assumed such meager rations would suffice before I found my way to some village. With that, I didn't think, I didn't reason, I did not recall promises, I ran.

And now I was here, racing headlong through a darkened and dead forest slumbering till the dawn of spring. One pocket filled with crusty, day old bread and the other only my last clinging hope that I could elude my master. The Dark One would know soon, if he didn't already. How I shivered at the thought of him catching me. But the forest was large as it was foreboding. Perhaps, I dared hope, just perhaps, fate would be on my side for once in my life and grant me a boon to be free of the Dark One.

People had always dubbed me a dreamer.

The snow began to fall harder as the wind, lurid and fierce, howled in raging song and blustered in every direction. A blizzard, blown from the mountain crags and the jagged precipices had billowed down to the forest and valley caking everything in a thick white sea of snow. The wail of wind sang into with the wail in my heart.

I had no cloak, just my thin, dress which was highly inappropriate for such weather. How the wind blew, blinding me with the ashen flakes of frost and it ravenous sting. Nevertheless, I pressed on, for the wind frightened me less than my master and the cold looked to be better claws to claim me than his.

In my blind wanderings and fighting against the shrieking wind I crashed into something. Something warm that was bedecked in fur and leather to cover a wiry frame. The wind deafened and the snow ceased to bite my flesh as my heart stopped in terror.

Even half blinded I knew it was him. I knew the smell of magic that not even the blasting cold air could steal away from him. I knew the feel of his dirty talons curling over my slender upper arm and the pulse of hot power beneath his touch claiming me.

I looked up to see a face, and yet all I saw where the twin orbs of smooth onyx that made even the dead of a black night shine brighter than a thousand suns. Parts of his straggly, light brown hair whipped across his face, the only thing I could see besides the eternal onyx void of his depths.

My master had found me. Better that the snow would have slain me instead, I thought with what little bit of reasoning I still possessed.

He had me in his clutches once more. Though he had pursued through the woods, and probably not taxed himself with any vast amount of his ancient powers, the fact remained he still had to come look. Fear cloaked me in its dark, owning shroud at a sudden through that turned my knees into water. Would he beat me for running away? It seemed logical enough; masters usually did hit their slaves in cases such as attempts at escape.

He said not a word, but snapped his dexterous claws and in moments we stood in the main hall. A blazing fire flickered demurely in the wide hearth suffusing the room with warmth. It was only then I realized how cold and hurt I was, but I refused to show pain upon my blood, dirt, and tear stained face.

"Let me go!" I shrieked like the winds mournful wails bashing upon the rough stones of the castle.

His grip hadn't been hard at all; in fact it had remained firm but comfortable the entire time. No words sailed from his lips, no snarling or snapping or demanding answers. Was this a new type of rage? Had I summoned within him a completely different anger that rose beyond anything ever before reached in the levels of his copious fury?

Terrified beyond all logical reasons, I forcefully pushed away from his arms. Anything brave or bold about the gesture failed miserably as I broke free of a grip I had thought hard and restraining. Too much inertia was placed behind my motion and I staggered backwards from him.

At any other time I could have caught myself, but my legs and ankles, numb and injured refused to support even the slightest of weight or sudden jarring.

He tried to reach out, but by then it was too late. I landed hard on the floor right before the blazing hearth.

Injustice, fear, frustration fell upon me in like a hand smothering my will and hopes. I couldn't ever escape the Dark Castle or its dark master for long. With a sardonic grimace, the thought came that I couldn't even stand for very long now, much less try to run again.

I could barely raise my stiff arms aloft if he chose to rain down blows upon me. The thoughts of being struck once again blared into the forefront of my mind like some tragic scene. He did it once; assuredly he would do it again to a slave who had fled from her master.

Despite my attempts at bravery and rebellion the cold lining my bones and my aching heart had broken me for the night. I cowered pitifully in front of the hearth like some frightened animal petrified of the consequences reward my deal breaking. "I'm sorry I ran away, please don't beat me."

It was a pitiful shot in the dark for mercy, but one that might work. He had some kind qualities when the mood struck him, leaving me to only hope that some pity might take him thrall and the beating would die away soon. Clemency was a rarity in him, but one could hope.

Scalding tears arose in my eyes, their burn the only thing warm upon me. How I despised crying in front of him, for crying ultimately admitted defeat and childish loss at that. What else could I do? I was tired, hungry, cold, scared, wary, all jumbled into one big pot and bubbling in the black iron pot of fate.

"Please don't cry. I will not beat you, Belle." Those were the first words he had spoken since the moment in the potion room. His tone was soft and gentle and awkwardly soothing.

He knelt down beside me cautiously as though I could get up and run away again. His scaled hands, while in their own roughness, were tender and kind.

I flinched at the gentle gesture and he slowly withdrew, not angrily at my rebuffing him, but sad, like a child who knew not why a friend was now terrified of them. Only he wasn't a child, and he did know very well what coaxed the terror into an inferno.

There was no reason I should have believed him, and yet I did.

"Be at peace, I swear on my word, I won't hit you." Said he, and for a moment it seemed so foolish to be frightened of him.

Oh but I knew better. The slight tingling in my cheek was still heavy testament to that. They were only words to vie for my openness again. He did not desire me to be calm because he was repentant for what he had done; he did not want to always check to be certain I did not flee. That would be an inconvenience and he had not bartered for me to be an inconvenience.

I stammered. "Why should I believe you?" My mouth one thin, quivering line as a valiantly tried to constraint the flood of tears.

His fathomless dark eyes, like twin bottomless pits gazed deeply at me. There was a sorrow there, glimmering in the sable midnight of his orbs, but my heart hardened towards any gesture of guilt. "Is my word no longer enough clout to assure you?"

"Your word I trust your rage I do not." I countered and sniffed, with my emotions back under my dominance. Anger took me enthralled then; anger towards what he had done instead of fear that he could do it just as easily again and with me unable to do anything about it. "Will I go through this existence always wondering which should win the day your restraint or your temper?"

"Belle!" He shouted suddenly, like some rabid dog.

Had I made him snap so easily? Had I overstepped my bounds in my hurricane of rage dwelling inside?

I cringed and curled up expecting a blow at any moment. None came, in fact no fist ever balled up to strike my shivering skin. Instead I felt something warm being pressed against my lips. The smell of aged alcohol filled my nostrils with the scents of warmth and plums.

"Here." His voice was soft again as he pushed a golden chalice in my direction. Magic still crackled off its sides. "Damson wine." Rumpelstiltskin revealed. "Drink to get warm."

I didn't want it, but I could feel my insides pleading for any form of heat to instill into my shivering form. Perhaps a little too gratefully I drank it all in one gulp. The fire of it was a warm welcome.

After a time in silence, with only the popping of the fire and the shrieking wind as sound, he spoke low and gently. His gray-gold hand outstretched to me imploringly. "Belle, forgive me. What I did the other day-

"It's not that simple." I cut him off, the wine flooding through my body bolstering me. Crimson painted my cheeks and outrage swathed my spirit. "How can you think a simple apology can make up for what you did?"

Rumpelstiltskin was silent for a time longer, his glassy, sable eyes mirroring the fire as it danced in his tranquil depths. There was sorrow there, sorrow and anger at himself and perhaps disgust. I could see his mind working, conjuring up answers then tossing them away each worse than the previous.

"You sold yourself to a beast, Belle." He replied at length. So long had we been in the abhorrent silence, his voice, so low and odd startled me. "A beast that tries to do right by you, but ends up showing himself more feral than what those around him perceive. All I can say is that I will forever rue the day I did that to you, and let the beast inside of me lash out." With a shrug he ended. "That is the only answer I can supply."


End file.
